“What are you talking about, Cole?” Gia just stared at Cole. “How can you be sure it’s him? You can’t even see his face.”
He lowered his head, massaged the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and let out a long sigh.
Cybil moved close and lay a hand on his shoulder.
When he finally looked up and met Gia’s gaze, he patted Cybil’s hand, then stepped toward the body. “It’s him, Gia. It’s Rusty.”
Oh, no. No way could this be the same guy who’d fought with everyone in the café the day before. Although, if he acted like that everywhere he went, and if the things Cole had said about him were all true, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’d pushed someone over the edge. “Who would do something like this?”
He shrugged. “The fact that he’s dead doesn’t change the fact that he’s . . . well, he was . . . a ruthless, spineless, disgusting—”
When Cybil cleared her throat, he stopped mid-sentence.
His already flushed cheeks reddened. “Well, you get the idea.”
She’d already gotten the idea when Rusty had spouted off in the middle of her café in front of who knew how many witnesses—witnesses who’d definitely remember the incident once news hit that Bragge had been killed and dumped in the swamp. “Could you have made a mistake?”
“No,” he said and sighed. “It’s him.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I’m sorry, Gia.” Cole started to pace back and forth, stopped long enough to kick a half-rotted stump, then hopped a few times in pain before resuming his trek.
“Pacing isn’t helping anything, Cole. Plus, you’re probably messing up the crime scene. Come sit for a minute.” She gripped his elbow and guided him toward a fallen tree where Trevor sat with his arm around Cybil, scanned for snakes and other creepy-crawlies, then gestured for him to sit. “You told us what Rusty was like yesterday, but you never said how you knew him.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Cybil elbowed him in the ribs.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get testy.”
“It’s all right, Cole, and perfectly understandable, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. You know anything you say is between us.” Everyone in the café knew Gia didn’t engage in the gossip that ran rampant through Boggy Creek. She might listen, but she never spread rumors.
“I know. It’s not that.” He lifted his gaze to look past her to the spot where Rusty lie. “Rusty and I grew up together. He lived three doors down from me, and we were inseparable. We played on the same little league team, hung out with the same group of friends, had sleepovers on a regular basis. He was my best friend. At least, I thought he was.”
When he stopped talking, Gia squatted in front of him and caught the pain in his eyes. “What happened to change that?”
“I guess I never realized Rusty viewed us as competitors. I was always happy for him, whatever he achieved, even if it was a goal I’d also set for myself. And I thought he felt the same. When I made varsity baseball in ninth grade, he slapped me on the back and congratulated me. When I became captain of the football team, he hooted and cheered louder than anyone. But then . . .” He sucked in a deep breath, shook his head. “Then the principal found weed in my locker, and I was put off both teams.”
Cybil reached for his hand, entangled her fingers with his. “We all make mistakes, Cole.”
He jerked his head up to look her in the eye. “But that’s just it. I didn’t make a mistake. It wasn’t mine. Rusty was one of only three people who had the combination to my locker, including me. So, I figured it had to be the other kid, Jim Kirkman, who’d set me up. I turned my back completely on that poor guy over that. Something I’m not proud of.”
“It was Rusty?” Gia asked softly.
“Yeah. But I didn’t put it together, even after other incidents throughout the years, until I walked into the prom alone. The girl I’d invited, the girl Rusty knew I had a crush on and was going to ask, said she already had a date. And when I walked in and saw the two of them dancing, and Rusty shot me a victorious smirk, I knew it had been him all along.”
“Was that the woman who came into the café yesterday? Amanda?”
“No. She came later.” He shifted his gaze to Cybil and winced and had Gia wondering if their relationship had moved past the point of friendship.
Now was probably not the best time to ask. She did lift a brow at Trevor, but he simply shrugged. Apparently, he didn’t know any more than she did.
The sound of an engine approaching cut off anything else he might have shared. A park ranger pulled as close to them as he could then climbed out of his SUV, surveying the area as he approached. The stocky officer, his dark hair closely buzzed, was unfamiliar to her.
Gia’s heart sank. She’d been hoping Hunt or Leo would get there first. She didn’t know the officer, and he didn’t know Cole, so he couldn’t know right from step one that he was innocent. She tried to shake off her apprehension. No one had any reason to think Cole would have killed Rusty.
“I’m Officer Wade Erickson.” The officer shook each of their hands, then stuck his hands into his pockets and jiggled his keys. “I understand you folks had some trouble?”
Cole started to stand, but Gia stepped forward. “We found a . . . someone . . . over there.”
The officer pinned her with a hard stare, his eyes such a dark brown they were almost black. Then he sauntered at her side to where Rusty lay tangled, took one hand out of his pocket, and held it out to stop her from moving any closer. If his calm demeanor was any indication, this wasn’t the first body Officer Erickson had come across. “Wait here.”
The ranger walked around the scene, careful to keep a distance from the body. He squatted down, ran a hand through the high brush, and looked toward the body, then stood and stuffed his hands back into his pockets. When he finally did approach Rusty, he donned a pair of rubber gloves. At least it seemed he knew what he was doing and wasn’t likely to contaminate the crime scene, though she had a feeling Hunt wouldn’t be too happy he hadn’t waited for him before examining anything and possibly leaving footprints. But what did she know?
When she turned her head, Cole was beside her, but instead of watching the officer, his gaze had drifted past both him and Rusty to the other side of the river. He frowned. “What in the world . . .”
Harley squatted beside the river’s edge, scrubbing his hands together in the water, while Donna Mae stooped over him, speaking rapidly in his ear. If he was listening, Harley didn’t seem to respond to whatever she was so urgently trying to convey. The thought he could have killed Rusty flittered through Gia’s mind, then flickered right on out again. Even if he didn’t approve of the way Rusty had spoken to her, Harley couldn’t harm anyone. He didn’t have a cruel bone in his body. Whatever he was trying to scrub away, it wasn’t blood on his hands. She was as certain of his innocence as she was of Cole’s. “What do you think’s going on?”
“No idea.” But his gaze lingered as Harley scooped water up and over his arms. “I hope he’s all right.”
“Me too.” And once Hunt or Leo got there, she’d yell to him and make sure he was okay. But no way would she call out while Officer Erickson was the only police presence. He might not understand Harley’s quirks. And if he tried to bring him in for questioning . . .
Gia shivered, goose bumps dotting her skin despite the intensity of the sun.
“Ma’am?” Officer Erickson stood in front of her, a plastic evidence bag clutched in one massive fist. “Did you find the body?”
“I . . . uh—”
“No,” Cole interrupted. “I did. I was walking with my . . . companion when we found Rusty lying there.”
His eyebrows winged up. “Rusty?”
“Rusty Bragge.”
“You knew him?”
Cole sighed. “Yes. I’ve known him since we were kids.”
“What’s your name, please?” Still clinging to the evidence bag, he pulled a notepad and pen out of his pocket.
“Cole Barrister.”
“And what is your relationship to the deceased, Mr. Barrister?”
“Like I said, we’ve known each other since we were kids.” Cole raked a hand through his hair and squinted toward his former friend, his gaze a million miles—and probably fifty years—away from the present. “We grew up together in the same neighborhood.”
Erickson lifted his gaze to Cole, pen poised above the empty page. “So you were friends?”
Cole squirmed, stuck a finger in his collar, and tugged. “I wouldn’t say we were friends.”
Where was Hunt or Leo? Gia checked her phone for messages. Nothing. What was taking them so long?
“Then what would you say, sir?” The officer kept his gaze leveled on Cole, his expression far from friendly.
Cole’s attention snapped back from whatever memories haunted him. He folded his arms across his chest, defiant and stubborn, far from the man Gia thought she knew. “Actually, I’ve said all I’m going to without a lawyer present.”
“So, I guess you don’t want to explain this?” Officer Erickson held up the bag for Cole to see. Inside was a receipt.
Gia squinted against the sun’s reflection off the bag for a better look. There was no mistaking the All-Day Breakfast Café logo on the top of the receipt. But where had it come from? She’d comped Rusty’s meal to get rid of him after he’d put up such a fuss, not that he’d made any attempt to pay his bill.
Cole firmed his lips and said nothing.
Erickson turned the bag around so they could see the back of the receipt—where Cole’s name and cell phone number had been scribbled, along with today’s date and 8 a.m.
Sweat beaded along Cole’s forehead, dripped down the side of his face.
“Were you supposed to meet with Mr. . . .” Erickson frowned, “Bragge, was it?”
Despite the panic in his eyes, Cole’s lips remained firmly closed.
“Could I see that, please?” Gia held out a hand.
Officer Erickson studied her for a moment before taking her name and holding out the evidence bag. But when she reached for it, he pulled it back. “Sorry, you can look, but that’s it.”
Biting back anything she might regret saying, Gia leaned closer to read the receipt. Apparently, Mr. Bragge had purchased a dozen blueberry muffins at three o’clock on Sunday afternoon. Unfortunately, Gia couldn’t tell from the receipt who’d waited on him. She knew it hadn’t been her, since she’d have remembered him from that morning. So would any of her employees, all of whom had witnessed the altercation. Unless one of them had served him and shooed him out to avoid another outburst.
So, who’d been working then? Cole had already left. Savannah, Willow, and Skyla would all have still been there, only because they’d gotten so busy. And if she remembered correctly, Earl Dennison—the elderly man who’d been the All-Day Breakfast Café’s very first customer and had since become a good friend—had even shown up and lent a hand behind the counter so Savannah could help out in the kitchen. He was the only one who hadn’t been present when Rusty had come in that morning. Could he have filled the order? Even if he had, surely someone else would have noticed Rusty. And who’d rung him up? And, most importantly, how did Cole’s name and number find their way onto the back of the receipt?
All questions that would have to wait until she could get in touch with everyone. For the moment, though, there was no sense in bringing up anything before Hunt or Leo arrived. “Thanks.”
Erickson eyed her, pursed his lips, then tucked the evidence bag into his pocket and removed the handcuffs from his belt. He pointed at Cole. “Turn around and place your hands behind your back, please.”
Cole’s eyebrows winged up. “What?”
Trevor and Cybil both lurched to their feet. “Hey . . . just wait a minute . . .”
“What are you doing?” A man’s voice from behind her made Gia jump.
She whirled to find Harley standing behind her, hand in hand with Donna Mae. In all the confusion, she hadn’t seen them come up behind her. How had they crossed the river?
Harley’s face reddened. “Why are you arresting Cole?”
Erickson scanned the small crowd—Cole, Gia, Trevor, Cybil, and now Donna Mae and Harley. Apparently realizing everyone assembled was supporting Cole, his hand drifted toward the weapon on his hip. “Mr. Barrister has refused to answer questions without an attorney present, which is his right. But I will have answers, and if I can’t get them here, we’ll get them at the station.”
Harley propped his hands on his hips. “But he didn’t kill anyone.”
“Who are you, and how do you know that, sir?” Erickson inched backward, moving himself from the center of their circle to the periphery.
What was he afraid they were going to do? Attack him? Gia’s gaze fell on what remained visible of Rusty Bragge. Oh, right. If the officer thought Cole was guilty of murder, and what might be a ring of accomplices surrounded him, she could see where he might be feeling a little uncomfortable.
Thankfully, the short burst of a siren as Hunt pulled his SUV into the clearing interrupted before things could get out of hand—as if they hadn’t already.
When Erickson looked toward the arriving officers, Gia grabbed Harley’s free hand to get his attention, then shook her head once. Everyone needed to stay quiet until Hunt was the one asking questions. It already looked as if Cole was on his way to a cell—no need to have Harley as a roommate.
Hunt climbed out of the SUV and strolled toward them with Leo beside him. The laid-back stride might fool the casual observer, but Gia knew better. By the time he reached them, he’d have fully assessed the situation and mapped the scene in his mind. With a nod to each of them, he approached the ranger and held out his hand. “Officer Erickson.”
“Captain Quinn. It’s good to see you, though I’m sorry it’s under such disturbing circumstances.” Erickson shook the proffered hand, then gestured behind him toward Rusty. “It seems your DOB also happens to be my missing hiker.”
“I saw that report this morning.” He frowned. “Wife reported him missing, right?”
“Yeah, tried to, anyway. She said he left early this morning to go for a hike and meet up with an old friend, said there’d been some animosity between him and the friend . . .” His gaze shifted to Cole. “So when he was late, she got worried.”
“Unfortunately, it hadn’t been twenty-four hours, the man wasn’t underage, a senior, or mentally impaired in any way, so there wasn’t much we could do yet,” Hunt admitted.
Erickson nodded. “Still, people can get themselves in trouble out here, so I figured I’d take a look around, make sure he didn’t run across a gator or a bear. I didn’t expect this.”
“No, me neither.” Hunt glanced at Cole.
Then, apparently satisfied Leo would mind his suspects and thwart any escape attempts, Officer Erickson pitched his voice low and walked away with Hunt. “Best I can tell, the body was discovered at approximately eight thirty this morning, though the medical examiner will have to . . .”
Gia pounced on Leo. “What is it with that guy? We tried to tell him Cole had nothing to do with Rusty’s murder, but he’s not listening.”
Leo rubbed his chin, grim apology etched on his features. “We’ll straighten it out, but you can’t blame him. He walked onto a murder scene without knowing any of the players.”
She grudgingly acknowledged he might have a point. “But you guys know Cole wouldn’t have done this, right?”
“Of course, Gia.” He rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “You know we’re not going to arrest Cole for murdering anyone.”
“Okay, good.” Some of the tension seeped from her muscles. “I’m glad at least you guys know him enough to know he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Right. That, and Savannah would have our heads if we did.”
When her gaze shot to his, he grinned. Well . . . things couldn’t be as bad as they seemed if he could find any humor in the situation—not that he was wrong about Savannah. She would definitely make their lives difficult, to say the least, if they arrested Cole.
Her newly found sense of optimism tanked when she spotted Hunt walking back toward them, his expression somber.
When he reached Cole, he stopped. “Hey, Cole. Wanna tell me what happened?”
He rolled his shoulders. “I’d rather not.”
Why was he being so obstinate?
Hunt waited a beat. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.”
Cole held his hands out in front of him.
Everything went quiet—as if even the swamp’s inhabitants sensed the tension and hung on the next few moments. Gia held her breath as Cole and Hunt stared each other down, Leo glanced between them, and Officer Erickson looked on with a satisfied smirk.
With a sigh, Hunt yanked the cuffs from his belt. The clicks as he closed them around Cole’s wrists echoed as loudly as gunshots in the silence.